I am a looking for a new job. The process has not been as easy as I thought it would be. Not even close! Now I find myself wondering how much the chubby middle-aged women boogieing and doing pointless sign language at the bottom right corner of the screen on 'The Box' get per hour.
I don't think it would be too embarrassing a job. How many people watch 'The Box' for music videos after 11pm anyway? It's only us unemployed folk! But in all sincerity, I really must ask -> What is wrong with those signing women on 'The Box'? Why are they all fat (sorry, chubby)? And why do they all wear tight clothing that sticks to the folds in their tummies? Why do they feel the need to dance so stupidly along to hip hop songs whilst they sign away? And why do they come onscreen only after 11pm? Do people with hearing difficulties only watch music channels after 11pm? Why aren't there young, hot chics and guys in tight clothing jiving on screen and signing with glee at 2pm in the afternoon?
Is Bitchy the only person in London who cares about the welfare of the audibly-challenged?
Sorry about this. I'm sure you were expecting a much more upbeat post, especially as I've been uber lazy this last month. What have I been doing? Well first I was in Lagos, recovering from what turned out to be a very manic and super scary case of malaria. I ended up in hospital on New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. What fun, ey? After that, I was forced to take things slow, not just because the doctor ordered it, but also because I could barely keep up with my grandma! I was so tired out by the illness, that I could do nothing but eat, sleep and moan on the phone to Mr. Fanutastiki who absconded to the UK as soon as the worst was over.
Next came the weekend when I decided to give up (finally, do I hear you say?) the training contract offer I moaned about many a time last year. I said "bye bye" to the hugely successful, massively massive corporate law firm just over 2 weeks ago (8 weeks before the job was due to begin), and did a series of liberation dances in the mirror. (Picture me skipping and pirouetting, singing, then croaking, "I'm free! Free of the Rat Race! Whoopee!")
All this of course was until the "Oh oh what I am going to do now? I'm UN.EM.PLOYED in every sense of the word! CRAP!!" phase hit. This 3rd phase (as I'm sure you expect) brought on many a panic attack, many a crying spell and many a bout of gloom.
Now I am in phase 4 --> "So what if you're unemployed? You are Oluwabitchyola, the one, the only, you reign supreme. Can't nobody take your pride, can't nobody hold you down, oh no, you're gonna keep on mooooving. Yeah baby." So whilst Mr. Fanutastiki eats the lemon cake that my unemployed arse paid for, and fends off clients begging him for work, I sit on the computer next to him in his office googling and researching like a rabbit on Red Bull!
I will get a job soon, be it legal (the kind where you leave the office at 6.30pm and not the kind where you leave at 5am for the same pay) or funky (anyone with a hookup at Conde Nast or The National Magazine Company do holler.)
Till then, I may be silent on this blog, or I may be noisy and whingey as usual, who knows? 2008 was supposed to be a year of regular, fastidious blogging. So far it has brought with it illness, uncertainty and a rather funny (and very blog-worthy) visit to the National Youth Service Corps office in Abuja. Yes, you read right, if Bitchy doesn't get her act together soon, her cute little nyash is going to be encased in those disgusting turd-tinged nylon trousers frog-jumping from one end of the Lagos NYSC camp to the other. Teeheehee! 2008 promises to be an adventure, doesn't it! Xxx